All The Pieces (Pieces of Lies 3) (19 page)

I slammed on the accelerator on my family’s new Ferrari Spider and pulled the handbrake, causing the car to spin. I was taking out all my residual anger in this drive, and figured it was also a good opportunity to break the new girl in.  A sports car isn’t a sports car if it doesn’t unleash your adrenaline, although I was being a little more aggressive in my turns, so I knew I could easily get my fix.

Maybe I can roll the car? Or perhaps take off my seat belt and hit a tree. The suicidal thoughts weren’t that far out of reach. I was getting to a point in my head where the heartache was becoming unbearable. Although I would prefer this type of death to swallowing a bottle of pills or leaping off a skyscraper. Today, I was most definitely in a morbid kind of mood.

I tried to let my anger take over my deathly ideas. I tried to focus on the word hate. It didn’t hurt rolling off my tongue. I could say it out loud if I wanted to. I really could. I could scream it in the confinement of this car about how much I hated Norah Rossi. I inhaled sharply, trying to be bold, trying to be the guy who had gotten over her in my head. I was pushing out my rage. It was on the tip of my tongue. Right there. Ready to let go. But the very idea of forcing myself to believe such a lie, only made myself feel more pathetic. I slumped into the leather interior, the words dissipating from my throat and into thin air. I couldn’t hate her even if I tried, because it wasn’t hate. It was still love, and the worst kind. It was the never-ending kind of love that consumed your being. The type of love that you can’t forget. You can’t just switch it off, cast it aside, pretend it isn’t there, or give it another label. No. It felt like a heartbeat that never stopped thumping, and it was beating inside me for life.

I had to push this car harder. My head wasn’t clearing like it usually did on my drives. I didn’t feel the calm, the peace, the control I normally felt when I lost myself on these roads. I decided to take off down one of my regular tracks near the mountainside outside of Morewell. I wanted to let the burn of the motor ease the cold feeling in my veins. There had to a be stretch somewhere where I could set my mind free.

A Mustang appeared behind me in the rearview mirror. It drove up and sat dangerously close to my rear.  Mustang?  I hadn’t seen many out here in Morewell, and I paid attention to the cars that caught my eye in the area. And a Mustang would have certainly caught my eye. Perhaps it was one of the clowns from a rival club.  Maybe Winchester or Ravine with a new toy. Those boys probably got word I was back from the city and would take any chance to try and get a rise out of me. I suppose I could entertain them today. I could use the race practice and the easy win might help take the edge off.

I raised my arm up like I normally did when I was accepting the challenge. I waited till they had pulled up next to me before lowering my hand. This was the standard gesture for beginning a race when it was just a couple of us society boys. I cringed again at the label as I punched the car forward. ‘Society boy.’ We were considered the young members of the underground secret clubs in the country. The ‘next generation’s scandals’, we often joked. It wasn’t like I had much of a choice in my membership though. I thought back to the argument I had with my parents about not wanting to join the Lappell during my senior year in high school. I had checked out some of their history, read some stories, went through my parents’ drawers and paperwork locked up in their safe. You know, the standard kind of background check a curious teenager embarks on. I wanted to know what I was being thrown into after all. The people. The rules. I wanted some idea of what sharks lurked in the deep end.

What I found were a bunch of plans for various illegal business deals, and an odd set of notebooks and riddles that made no sense. Instinctively, I believed there was nothing good about this club. Nothing noble in the way they conducted themselves. No integrity with their kind of money and power. I had seen the effects of membership first-hand on my two older siblings. My eldest brother Leo had become more disconnected than ever when he returned from boarding school and was forced to join. He became withdrawn and resentful of our last name, and we drifted even further apart. And Delia used her membership as a means of escape. She wanted to travel overseas and get away from the confines of my parents’ orders as quickly as possible and she knew the only way to stop herself from becoming one of their drones was by going all the way up the ladder to the elite, where
some
of her choices could be her own. As a woman in the club, that was a smart plan of attack. The Lappell’s ideas when it came to women were very controversial. They were basically seen as instruments of pleasure and not love. In the Lappell, love took a backseat to power, money, lust and greed.

So when I was thrust into this life, I decided I would take on a different approach. I learned quickly the easiest way to appease the constant pressure was to pretend to be the type of son my parents wanted me to be. Agree to pretty much everything. Act like I wanted to follow in my father’s footsteps. Be a big man on campus. I knew if I could keep up the facade long enough, I could get my freedom too. Just like Delia.

But everything changed when I met
her
. In a split second, it was as if I didn’t know who I was anymore. I had been walking in the shoes of my fake persona for such a long time, that I forgot who I really was. And it wasn’t until she looked into my eyes, right down to where I was once a boy and saw the whole world differently, that I remembered those feelings of wanting something more than the life my parents had already decided for me. How she had become my
forever moment
.

Just thinking about my past with Norah made me plant my foot harder. The guy in the Mustang could barely keep up.  
Fucking amateur
.  I was getting bored of this race. I had to get back to my parents, collect my gear and head back to New York. I had spent a week here sulking. It was time to return to the doom and gloom of my Lappell duties and try not to remember the one and only love I’d ever had, and lost.

I couldn’t believe I was chasing down Clint Weston. My actions were borderline stupid and reckless. I thought about just going back to New York and telling Len on my own, but when I learned that Clint was also in the area, I figured I should share my new-found information. The guy had been royally fucked over like myself, and there was a part of me which decided that he deserved to know too. Well, actually, the thought occurred to me that Len may not believe me when I did tell her the truth, so I figured if I told Clint and got him on side too, she would have no choice but to accept it. Strength in numbers when it came to exposing this lie. I was making sure I was fully equipped for the war. I clearly did not know who I was up against with my new found enemy in Joshua Hollows.

But fuck me!  How was I going to get Clint to pull over? He seemed hell-bent on keeping up this little game of cat-and-mouse we had going on. I would have to find a way to get him to stop. I needed to get his attention and fast. I came up with an idea, but it would result in a possible smack down with the guy, and that wouldn’t help get him onside. Perhaps I should wait till we were back in New York and show up at his apartment. It would be a whole lot easier than getting this mad skilled driver, with a chip on shoulder, to slow down. Although having just come from Arthur’s house, it was all still fresh in my head. I wanted to debrief with the other pawn who was also knocked out in Josh’s little game.

Ah, fuck it. I will risk the fight
. I withdrew my Magnum from my jacket, took aim, and shot out the back window of the Ferrari. The glass shattered, falling into the back seat. I figured his family could afford a new window and that this would certainly get him to stop. As if I saw it play out in my mind, the Ferrari screeched to a grinding halt. I had to swerve to miss his car because of how quickly he braked. Clint was going to be pissed.

The Ferrari driver’s door swung open, and before the cloud of dust created from the sudden stop even settled, I saw Clint running over to my car, his eyebrows turned in towards his nose, his fists clenched tight. I jumped out of my car just as fast, running to the other side to make sure the car separated our bodies. I wasn’t scared to fight Clint Weston, but fighting was not what I came to do. That was another day, another argument, and certainly not this one, although if some guy shot out my car window, I would beat the fucker senseless.

“VOLTAGGIO?” Clint stood staring across over the hood of my Mustang, unsure as to what to expect from me. Well, at least he remembered my name. No need for introductions again. He looked ready to slide across the hood and rip me to shreds. I had to admire the fact he was ready to throw down. That type of rage will come in useful later when we confront Hollows and beat his ass. But for now, I needed to get back to business.

“Calm down Weston. It was just a window. I wasn’t aiming for your head.”

“You better start explaining what the fuck you are doing here!”

 “I needed to get you to stop. I have something important to tell you.”

 “Oh, so the guy who ruined my relationship has something important to tell me. Do you have any idea how fucking ridiculous that sounds? After what you did, there is nothing you could say that is going to stop me from cracking your skull on the door of your fucking car.” Clint sidestepped around the car, trying to get closer. “You hear? Nothing is going to stop me.”

Shit!  Looks like I might have to bust his lip, or maybe give him a shiner before I can talk sensibly to the guy. Doesn’t sound like he is going to calm down anytime soon, and knocking him off his feet might be the only way he will listen.

Weston took another chance at trying to grab me from across the car, but I moved quickly, trying to think of something that would stop him from getting closer. He got frustrated with the way I was moving around the car so he slid over the top of the hood, quickly cutting me off, shoving me back against the driver’s door. I cracked one of my knuckles in preparation for the inevitable, because by the look on Clint’s face, it was clear he wasn’t going to back down from this fight. I guess in some respect, it was long overdue.

He walked right up to my face, a murderous look in his eyes. Something had finally snapped in his head. It was unnerving how his look made me feel. I rarely ever felt fear going into a scrap, but there was so much behind his stare. All hate, all fury, the pain of what he lost. He was about to hit me head-on like a semi truck. This wasn’t going to be an easy victory for me.

I held up my palms, my only defense, hoping that what I was going to say would bring him to a sudden stop.

“Josh played us against each other,” I said into the cool mountain air.

Clint stopped. Shook his head like what I said appeared from the sky, but then realized that I was the one who said those words. He cocked his head, studying me more closely. “What did you say?”

I had his attention now. “I said, that Josh played us against each other.”

Clint shook his head once more, knowing he had heard right the first time. He took a step back, thinking about the words. “What exactly do you mean, ‘Josh played us?’”

I relaxed my fists knowing that our
meeting
was about to turn right around.

“It means exactly what I just said Weston. Joshua Hollows played the both of us and we fell for it — hook, line and sinker. Since Norah accused me of putting a hit on you, I knew something wasn’t right. I’ve been tracking the origins of that hit man for a while, using some of my connections, and my sources lead me here. I’ve just come from speaking to Arthur Wickburn. Remember him? Well, he knew that hit man you made a deal with, Devon Lockley. And well, I convinced him to tell me what he knew. They are associates. Attended the same college. They go through one another when it comes to debriefing and movements. And Arthur had information. He told me a little story about Josh and Mr. Lockley. Seems the Lappell aren’t so good at keeping their own secrets. Especially when you apply the right kind of pressure.”

Clint’s eyes bugged out. “What did you find out?”

“Just simply, that Josh planted a fake contract on you from me, with the assumption that you would so nicely return the favor. He set us up to destroy one another and make us look bad, all so Len would run into his arms. He even arranged for her to find out on her birthday.” My voice got sharper as I laid it out. “Josh made us look like chumps, and himself the hero.”

Clint’s nostrils flared, his eyes looking at me for any signs that I was screwing with his head. He knew I wasn’t though. He knew I wouldn’t go to all this trouble to track him down and make up this story. It happened so fast then, the hit he was mentally taking.  His face turning a dark shade of red.  You could literally see his blood boiling. Clint’s fists were raised again, but this time they weren’t directed at me. Instead he strode over and slammed them down on top of my car, slight indents forming on the hood from his act of rage.

“Hey, what the fuck! That’s my car.”

“Now we are even,” he said, not apologizing for the body work my Mustang would need.